Solace
by zyvain
Summary: Story set shortly after Trespasser. While the Inquisition is officially disbanded, Lavellan and her friends struggle to locate Fen'Harel. However, Dorian worries that Lavellan's feelings for Fen'Harel might prevent her from doing what needs to be done. In order to help her let go, he asks Cullen to seduce her.
1. Chapter 1

Winter in the Emprise. The snow lies heavy on the roofs and towers and in Cullen's room a fire is burning. He has a fire, after all. He has a roof over his head. In these days, a lot of people don't even have that.

The Inquisition has been lucky, Cullen assumes. When the organisation officially disbanded a few weeks ago, Ellana Lavellan was granted Suledin Keep by the Chantry as a parting gift from the Divine. Victoria herself made sure of that. To the outside world the Keep is now Lavellan's personal home. However, in reality, those still loyal to the Inquisition reside here as well and so the work continues, although not in the same way as before.

For one thing, Lavellan doesn't like how Cullen keeps referring to their party as the Inquisition. _The Inquisition is dead_ , she tells him. _Now we're just a handful of friends trying to save the world._

 _Unlike before?_ he's been tempted to ask, but he knows what she means. He knows that before, they were a military unit. They were a force to be reckoned with.

Now they're nothing.

At least Cullen feels like he's nothing.

As they no longer have an army, they don't have any soldiers. Thus Cullen clearly isn't a commander anymore. Without a field of expertise he simply cannot help. He has no role to play and if it wasn't for Cassandra, he wouldn't have agreed to stay here in the first place.

Well, Cassandra. But also the fact that he doesn't have anywhere else to go. Before the Inquisition he was a Templar. He'd served the Templars since he was thirteen years old. Now, he is done with the Order. He's done with lyrium. He wants nothing to do with any of it. He supposes he could go back to Ferelden, back to his family. In truth, he considers that option every day. But what would he do there? What would he do with his life?

The world might come to an end soon anyway.

A soft tapping at the door interrupts Cullen's thoughts. He stretches his legs and prepares to rise from the chair by the fire where he's been sitting. His Mabari dog barks in anticipation. By now, Cullen is accustomed to spend a lot of time alone and he can't help but wonder about the visitor. Who could possibly want to speak to him at this late hour?

Before Cullen is even out of the chair, the door opens halfway to reveal Dorian's handsome face peeking in.

"Ah, there you are", the tevinter says, as if surprised to find Cullen in his own room. "I've been looking for you."

Cullen falls back against the cushions. "You have? Where?"

"In the training grounds." Dorian closes the door behind him, walks through the room and sits down in an empty chair next to Cullen in front of the fireplace. "I was hoping to see you flex those beautiful muscles." He crosses his arms and grins.

Cullen shifts uncomfortably. It's not Dorian's choice of words that makes him feel embarrassed. He is used to the flirtatious repartee that signifies his friend. No, it's the reminder that he hasn't been practicing lately that bothers him. He is still in pretty good shape, he assumes, but his body is definitely in decline. If he doesn't keep up with the training he'll gain weight eventually and that... that would confirm that he is no longer a commander. Or a Templar. He won't even be a soldier.

"Sorry to disappoint", he says.

"Don't be sorry. My father always told me I have way too high expectations in life."

The Mabari walks over to Dorian's chair to sniff at his hand. The tevinter indifferently pets the dog under the chin and Cullen smiles despite himself. He does have something now that he didn't have before. He has friends. Dorian is his friend, and, of course, Cassandra. As long as they are staying, so will he. Won't he?

Except that Dorian isn't staying. Cullen knows that much. Dorian stayed for Lavellan, to see her safely installed in the Emprise du Lion. Now he will be leaving for Tevinter, probably within the next couple of days. He's got duties of his own up in the north, but he'll also provide Lavellan with information. _Maker's breath_ , Cullen thinks. It's hard to get used to the fact that Thedas has a new enemy now, in his own way more dangerous than Corypheus ever was.

"What can I do for you, Dorian?"

"Always the hero, right?" Dorian smiles. "Actually, this situation does call for a hero. I'm leaving soon, as you well know, and I'm... I'm worried about her."

At that, Cullen feels a stillness inside him that he can't explain. "About who?"

"You are not an idiot so please stop acting like one. I'm worried about our most precious Inquisitor."

"She's tough", Cullen says dismissively. "She'll be alright."

"I'm not so sure. She's having nightmares about that prepostrous Well of Sorrows and about... about other things."

"Other things? You mean _him_."

"Yes, _him_." Dorian still smiles, but the smile no longer reaches his eyes. "I fear she can't get over him."

"You'd think that the fact that he wants to destroy the world, destroy us all..." Cullen takes a deep breath. "You'd think that would set her mind off him. But who am I to say? That's her personal life. It doesn't concern me."

"It's complicated for her", Dorian says. "It's not just him, it's what he represents. She renounced being the Herald of Andraste because she isn't an Andrastian. To her, the Inquisition was never about religion. Not until she realised -, well, that it _is_." He laughs. "She can deal with all of that, though. What she can't deal with is her broken heart."

"Don't you think that in time... that she'll move on?" _Like the rest of us do_ , Cullen adds to himself. _The rest of us move on. Why is her pain so damn special? I moved on from all of them. From Amell. From Hawke. From..._

"Oh, yes, she'll move on. It's just that she needs a little help from her friends in order to do so. And since I won't be here... Well, I need you to take care of her."

Cullen snorts. "Why me? I'm not even her friend."

"That harsh, Cullen." Dorian looks at him firmly. "You care for her, don't you?"

"Of course I care for her, but our relationship is strictly professional. Why don't you ask any of her _actual_ friends?" He pauses and eyes the tevinter suspiciously. "Of maybe you have. Maybe you're on a little tour here, persuading everyone to enlist."

Out of the advisors and companions, most have chosen to stay with Lavellan. Among those closest to her, only Josephine has left. She is now in Val Royeaux to make sure the correspondance between the Chantry and the former Inquisition runs subtly. Victoria (Cullen has a hard time not thinking of the woman as Leliana) can't openly support Lavellan for obvious reasons, but the former spy-master excels at keeping things in the dark. With Josephine there to smooth her actions over... well, nothing can go wrong in that department.

Vivienne and Sera are gone as well, Vivienne to Halamshiral and Sera to Maker knows where. Lavellan never really got along with those two and in the case of Vivienne, Cullen can relate. No one gets along with Vivienne. As for Sera, he himself likes her, but he can see why Lavellan doesn't. The two women are both elves but they view Elven culture completely differently and Sera has insulted Lavellan's Dalish pride too many times.

Everyone else is still here, although Varric disappears from time to time to visit Hawke and Anders in their secret little cabin. That's quite a lot of people for Dorian to recruit as Lavellan's personal caretakers, especially since they all know her well.

"I can assure you that I'm not doing a _tour_ , as you so blatantly put it." Dorian manages to look almost wounded by the accusation. "I'm asking this of you specifically."

"Really?" Cullen frowns. "What can I do for her that the others can't?"

Humour is suddenly back in Dorian's eyes, causing Cullen to glare at him. He knows his friend well enough to recognise that particular look of mischief. The tevinter then raises his eyebrows, as to imply something, and Cullen's suspicions are confirmed.

"A great deal, I would think", Dorian says.

"This is getting ridiculous."

"Fine, I'll tell you. Just promise me you're with me on this."

"I can't promise anything until I know what _this_ actually is", Cullen points out, struggling not to lose his patience.

"Alright, promise not to _bark_ at me then."

" _Bark?_ I'm not a dog."

"Oh, but you are. You're such an adorable, strong, protective watch dog. Women love that."

 _They do?_

"Really, Dorian. Now I don't even _want_ to know."

"Oh, but you know already, don't you?"

Cullen gives a joyless laugh. "I can suddenly read your thoughts?"

"Apparently you can, or you wouldn't have made that comment."

"What comment?"

"The comment about not wanting to know."

"Out with it", Cullen snaps.

Dorian holds up both of his hands in a submissive gesture. "Alright. I want you to sleep with her."

The stillness Cullen felt before is suddenly back. He can't move. He can't breathe. He can't even begin to percieve Dorian's words, or their impact.

 _"What?"_ he snarls.

"Have sex with her. Make sweet love to her. Fuck her. Whatever suits you."

"Fuck..." Cullen begins but stops mid-sentence. He runs his hand through his hair, desperately trying to comprehend what the other man is proposing. "Are you insane?"

"No. I'm many things, Cullen, but I'm fairly certain that my brain is fully operational. In fact, I take a considerable amount of pride in it. Besides, it's a reasonable suggestion. You have before, haven't you? With her."

 _"What?"_

"Oh, come now, Commander. I know you've got a thing going on with that boyish charm of yours, but you can't possibly have me believe..."

"That is... that is none of your business", Cullen interrupts, gasping for air. "This entire conversation is..."

"Is what, way out of hand?"

"Yes. In every possible way."

"Don't you mean to say that Ellana Lavellan is out of _your_ hands? If so, why don't we change that?"

"That's enough." Cullen rises abrubtly and walks over to the window. His lungs feel too small to be able to provide him with the air he so urgently needs. He stares into the darkness for a moment, then starts pacing restlessly around the room. The Mabari dog gets up to follow his steps. Cullen ignores the animal. Instead he pulls at his hair over and over again, frustrated.

"Don't do that", Dorian says. The tevinter is still sitting comfortably in his chair by the fireplace. "You'll ruin your curls."

"You're completely out of line, Dorian."

Dorian laughs. "The things I do for my friends..."

Cullen spins around to glare at him. "The worst part is that you're not even joking. You're sincere. You care for her and somehow you believe that..." He sighs, in loss for proper words, "...with me would help her?"

"I believe that _sex_ will help her. It doesn't have to be with you, but you're the best available candidate."

Cullen closes his eyes. Dorian's logic is completely twisted and Cullen should be angry with him. Furious, even. He does feel ready to explode but at the same time he realises that his rage isn't directed at Dorian. This entire conversation, as bizzare as it is, stems from Dorian's love for Lavellan and that is... Well, he can't argue with that. He can't argue with Dorian about anything for that matter, simply because he doesn't want to. He's tired of arguments and Dorian, with the exception of Cassandra, is his only friend. Soon he'll be in Tevinter and Cullen is going to miss him even though he's an impossible human being.

Still, Cullen longs for release, to let the anger loose. He wants to growl at Dorian, Maker's breath, even bark. The very idea of it, of being close to Lavellan, sends waves of electricity through his spine. He's just... he wants... But he can't. He's been through too much to even consider opening that door.

He has moved on and he must continue to do so.

He must continue to move on from her.

 _Then why aren't you in Ferelden?_ a voice in his head whispers.

To that, Cullen has no answer. He turns his back on Dorian and continues to look out of the window, into the night. Behind him, Dorian plays with the Mabari dog while eying Cullen inconspiciously. At least the mage knows when to shut up, because he doesn't utter a word.

Several minutes pass, then Cullen asks: "Why am I the best available candidate?" His eyes are still set on the black night sky.

Dorian chuckles. "Why do you think?"

"She rejected me, you know."

"I know", Dorian says bluntly, "but she wanted you once. Before that."

"Before..." Cullen begins while another voice in his head starts to protest. _Don't say it. Don't speak of it, not to anyone. Don't go there._

Dorian waits.

"Before _him_ ", Cullen says, the word a rasping sound. "Before she grew close to _him_."

"That's right." Dorian shifts in his chair and Cullen can hear the Mabari waddle away to lie in front of the fireplace. "Before him. Now he's gone."

"But she still loves him."

"My point exactly. Somehow she needs to stop. For her own sake, but also for all of us. She won't be able to defeat him as long as she still loves him. Physical attraction is not love, that is true, but it's close to it. It's a start. It'll show her there are other things than him in the world. Other people."

Cullen turns around. "Then why don't you take care of it yourself?" he snaps.

His friend flinches slightly before regaining control of his features. "Now _you're_ the one being insane. I couldn't possibly. You know that."

Cullen does know that. He also knows that the comment was a low blow. Dorian deserves better, even though he's smashing Cullen into a million little pieces.

"The Iron Bull, then?" he says. "He wouldn't mind. Or Blackwall. Blackwall would be happy to... to do it, I'm sure."

"Without a doubt. But she isn't attracted to Blackwall."

"How do you know?"

"She's told me as much."

"You've discussed this with _her_?"

"We've discussed the male population of Skyhold many times, but not _this_ per se." Dorian waves his hand in the air between them. "She wouldn't agree to it if she knew it was my idea. She wouldn't think it real if she felt I'd set the whole thing up."

"She's right. It wouldn't be real."

"It would for you", Dorian says.

Something inside of Cullen finally breaks. "What if it would?" he almost shouts. "You worry about her heart. What about _my_ heart?"

"I know you were in love with her." There is no laughter in Dorian's voice, only compassion.

"I was. And she in me, before _he_ got to her with all his nonsense about magic and the fade and ancient gods. She asked me once if her Dalish heritage was ever going to be a problem for me. I said no, of course not. Ironically it became a problem for _her_. She said she wanted to be with someone who could fully understand her. Someone who could _see_ her. All of her. She said I couldn't. Becuase I wasn't Dalish. I wasn't Elven." He runs his fingers through his hair and starts pacing back and forth through the room again. "And he was a mage. _Is_ a mage. Of course he's a mage. Mages will be my undoing."

Dorian's smile is sad. "I'm happy to hear that. I'm a mage too, you know."

"I know, and I've never missed the Order so terribly."

"She's not a mage."

"No, she's not. That's probably why I loved her, at least in part. I thought that would be enough, but I knew all along it was too good to be true."

Dorian rises from his chair, suddenly determined. "And if she could love you again? Wouldn't it be worth the risk?"

"It this what... what has she told you?"

"I'm not at liberty to say. But as much as I care for you, Cullen, I'm not suggesting this for you. I'm suggesting it for her. For her broken heart. I'm suggesting it for all of our fates. He must be stopped. At all costs. And you..."

"It'll destroy me. How can you ask this of me?"

"You're tough. You'll be alright."

"No", Cullen says. "I won't. I'll be broken. It would be the last of me. Don't you understand? There's only a small piece of me left."

Dorian walks towards him, slowly. He rests his hands on Cullen's shoulders and softly, tenderly, leans in to place a quick kiss on his forehead.

"Then put it to good use. Give her what she needs."

"And what exactly is that?"

"Solace", Dorian says.


	2. Chapter 2

Agonisingly slowly, Cullen climbs the stairs that lead to Lavellan's room. He feels like he's a long way from home. A long way from Ferelden, from Kirkwall, even from Skyhold with its grand halls and high windows. Suledin Keep is narrow and dark. Everywhere the presence seems to linger from the demon Lavellan once killed in the courtyard.

He stops in front of Lavellan's thin, wooden door. Distinctly he takes a moment to remember the draperies in her Shyhold chamber. The balcony with its Orlesian double doors. The tall canopy bed. Then he knocks. Carefully. Politely.

"Who's there?" Her voice reaches him from behind the door. It's firm and clear. Very Inquisitorial. Maybe this is a mistake. It probably is. He knows it is.

"It's me", he says and then quickly adds: "Cullen." She wouldn't exactly associate the word _me_ with him after all. Not anymore.

There is no reply other than a swishing sound, as if she is fumbling around with fabric or clothes. He waits for a while and the sound ceases but there are no signs of her planning to open the door.

"Do you want me to go?" Cullen mumbles, loud enough for her to hear. All of the sudden he's grateful. It must be that fate has decided to spare him. Catastrophe was always the only possible outcome of this visit.

He's already turned around to leave when her voice reaches him once again: "No, please enter. It's open."

He closes his eyes and inhales deeply, then convinces himself that this is not the end. He can still break out of it. He can walk in there and simply ask her how she's doing. He can say that he's come to... to see her for a bit. It would be for the best. Anyway, she wouldn't... She would never... Now with him, right? So it's no use. He can tell her that he's worried about her now that Dorian is no longer staying in the Keep. That he wants her to be happy. Yes, that's it. Happy.

He enters.

The room is dusky and not very different from his own. There is a bed, a lit fireplace and a couple of armchairs. He can see the silouette of a cupboard and next to it something that looks like a mirror. That is all. The bed is hastily made and covered with a green coloured blanket. She sits on top of it, cross-legged in an almost juveline posture that makes her look like a teenage girl. She's graceful with her light skin and her long limbs. Lithe.

Elven.

He grimaces at that.

She's wearing leggings and a short tunic, the same simple Dalish attire that Cullen is used to see her in. Her ears stick out of her short, pale hair and the markings (he can never remember the Dalish term) on her face shimmer in the firelight. She's much thinner than she once was and her left sleeve is tied together near the elbow to hide the stump of her missing arm. She looks worn and tired.

Even so, she's alarmingly beautiful.

She taps the fingers of her right hand against her knee, restlessly, as she lifts her head to look at Cullen. "Close the door, please."

He does, and then pulls out one of the armchairs so that it faces the bed. Without waiting for permission, he sits down. "Inquisitor", he says, proud to sound so collected.

She winces at the title. He expects her to point out that it doesn't apply to her anymore, but she just watches him carefully, eyes wary. "Commander?"

Cullen finds himself already struggling for words.

"Dorian left a few hours ago", he says. "For Tevinter."

"I know. He was here."

"Oh. Well. So are you... are you alright?"

She shrugs. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I just thought... aren't you going to miss him?"

"Of course I'll miss him, but we'll keep in touch. And he won't be gone forever. He'll come back."

"I suppose you're right."

 _Not like him_ , Cullen thinks. Our enemy. _Not like the one who truly left you._

She sits up a little straighter. "Why are you here?"

Cullen swallows. "I... I just wanted to make sure that you have everything you need. To be honest, it was Dorian who..."

Her eyes, still fixed on him, narrow. "Dorian who what?"

Andraste's flaming sword, he's ruined it now! She'll never go through with it if she finds out that it was Dorian's idea. Rage flows through Cullen, unexpected and hot, and he has to remind himself that he's not here for that. That he's not even going to try.

"Dorian..."

 _...has asked me to have sex with you._

"...is worried about you."

At that, Lavellan flashes a tired smile and a small hint of tenderness touches her face. "He asked you to watch over me?"

"Well... yes."

She laughs a beautiful little laugh, light suddenly glittering in her eyes. Cullen's anger immediately transforms into something else. Lust? Longing? He's not even sure which. He just knows that his chest aches.

"He probably asked everyone to keep an eye on me", Lavellan says. "He spoils me too much. But it's nice, you know. To have so many friends." She pauses and straightens her features. "It was good of you to come. Why don't you stay for a few minutes? We haven't..."

She hesitates and Cullen braces himself.

"We haven't spoken outside of the War Room in a very long time", she adds.

She's right, and he can sense what she's thinking: that it's his fault. She was very clear, back then, when she said she wanted them to remain friends. She told him that she would stay away from him for a while, to give him space, but that she'd always be there for him.

In that regard, she's never failed him. As soon as she found out from Cassandra about his lyrium withdrawal and the pain that came with it, she went straight to him and told him it was alright. She said he was better than the lyrium. Stronger. She even held him when he started to shake. Then she accompanied him to confront Samson, without question or argument.

But she didn't love him. Not like that.

He can still recall that very ordinary day when she walked into his office and informed him that they had to break their romance off. She was so terribly sorry, she said, but she'd realised that she'd fallen in love with someone else.

He had known at once of whom she spoke.

She was referring to _him_. The man who watched over her at Haven while she struggled through her fever dreams, before she became the Inquisitor or even the Herald. The man who had an answer to everything. The man who healed her wounded hand.

Cullen feels sick at the memory. "I know it's been a long time. I've been... I don't know. I just needed... well, _time_."

"Two years?" she asks.

He flinches slightly. Two whole years, and more. _What have I been doing all this time since Corypheus was defeated? What have I been up to, other than wasting away?_

"Apparently." He shifts uncomfortably. "So how are you these days?"

"I'm okay."

"No, you're not", he says straight out. "How are you really?"

"I'll be alright", she sighs.

"Dorian doesn't believe so."

"Dorian should have a little faith in me." She manages another smile, but there's no warmth in it.

"Inquisitor, with all due respect. The man we now hunt is also the man who..."

He ends mid-sentence. He can't make himself say the words out loud.

Her eyes harden. "The what? The man I loved? The man who betrayed me?"

"The man who betrayed all of us."

She falls back against the bed, legs streched out, and he can't see her face.

"I'm aware of that."

"He needs to be stopped, Inquisitor."

"I'm aware of that too. We'll find him. We'll stop him. We'll find a way."

"Are you sure?" The words come off harsher than Cullen intends. "You keep talking about making him realise it's wrong to tear down the veil. You say you'll convince him that the past can't return anyway, not the way he wills it. That is all well and good, but what if he doesn't listen?"

"We've been through this." Her voice is distant, thick with sorrow. "I've said I'll make him listen."

"And if you can't?" Cullen says.

She doesn't reply.

Clearly, he's here to push her. To crack open her wounds. It's not what Dorian intended, but maybe it needs to be done.

"Inquisitor", he says. "You have a responsibility. If nothing else works..."

"We've been though this", she repeats. She sits up again, abruptly, to look at him. "Is that why you're here? To convince yourself I'll be able to do what must be done?"

He doesn't know what to say to that. Why is he here?

"That too."

"The desicions we make together in the War Room aren't enough for you? You don't trust me to do the right thing?"

He shrugs his shoulders helplessly.

"Inquisitor..."

"You have no right to intrude on me here", she continues. "You have no right to ask me how I'm doing after all this time. But now that you're here - don't you dare _Inquisitor_ me."

He has no _right_ , is that it? He glares at her, anger beginning to build inside him. From her words, one could think that he's the one who's mistreated her when really it was her who broke up with him. Also, in comparasion to the man they're talking about Cullen is pretty damn perfect, isn't he? He would never have hurt her. He would have stayed with her until the fucking end of time.

"Sorry", he growls.

"Cullen", she says. "I care for you. This is difficult for me."

She might as well have stabbed him with a knife. He almost gasps for air as the memories come running back.

He remembers their seemingly harmless flirting at Haven. She made him uncomfortable in a good way. The best of ways. Then the attack on Haven happened and they continued talking at Skyhold, convincing each other how grateful they were that the other was alive. "Did you leave anyone behind in Kirkwall?" she'd asked and he felt his heart explode in wonder. It seemed unreal for him to find love, once again, where he'd least expected it. And she wasn't a mage. She was something else entirely. An Elven Archer. The reluctant Herald of Andraste.

Then one day they took a walk on the battlement and she said: "Cullen, I care for you." There had been an unmistakeable light of anticipation in her eyes. He had known, then. He had known that he was ready to begin again. Ready to let go off the memory of Hawke leaving Kirkwall with that terrorist mage who'd ruined everything. Lavellan wanted him and he was ready to give her everything. All of him. Once again.

"That's unfortunate", he hisses at her, "because I don't believe you. If you'd _cared_ for me, you wouldn't have..."

He quickly shuts his mouth. Maybe she's right. Maybe he's being unreasonable. Maybe he's being unfair. She's tried really hard, in the past, to be his friend. He knows that. But it's not enough. It'll never be enough.

Her expression softens. "Oh, Cullen", she says in a tone of voice that makes him wish he was dead.

She pities him.

He's promised himself that he'll never give her any reason to pity him.

"It's fine", he says quickly. " _You're_ the one with a broken heart. I just wanted to... see what I could do to help."

She sighs and nods, as if giving in.

Acting solely on impulse he rises from the chair to sit next to her on the bed.

"You can't fool me", he says. "I don't buy it. Not after what happened in the Winter Palace when you entered the Eluvians. Not after you met him again. You are not alright."

Again she sighs. Her shoulders droop and she covers her beautiful face with her right hand. "No. I'm not. Are you happy now?"

"Why would I be happy to see you unhappy?" He tries very hard to sound normal.

"Because clearly you're still mad at me for breaking up with you. You probably think this is just what I deserve."

 _Yes. Yes I do._

"Of course I don't think that."

"You can't fool me", she says with a sad smile. "I don't buy it."

"Ellana, I..."

"I'm sorry." She removes her hand from her face to look him straight in the eye. He can read the pain in her features. Traces of tears glimmer on her perfect cheeks. "I'm so very sorry I hurt you, Cullen. I know you deserved better. It couldn't be helped, but I want you to know that I'm sorry."

He nods, unable to keep his facial expression in check. His heart pounds harder than he thought possible. Somehow it feels good to hear her say it. To hear her acknowledge his pain. She has before, of course, but that was a long time ago. Maybe this is what he came here for. Closure. Yes, that must be it.

"I know", he mumbles. "And I'm sorry for you. I'm sorry that you got hurt. Please let me hold you. Maybe that'll help."

 _It'll help_ me. _Maker, I need it._

She looks slightly taken aback at his request. Then, tentatively, she leans against his shoulder. His steel shoulder pad prevents him from feeling the contact and yet…

He feels.

Comfort. Attraction. Shame.

All at once.

He puts an arm around her shoulders and, as she slowly relaxes against him, listens to the wild beating of his heart. It feels incredibly good to be this close to her. Unwordly good. Divine. This is where he belongs. It doesn't feel at all like closure, but why should he care? He's lost everything anyway and that creature, that _thing_ , has made it clear he does not want her. What harm can it really do then, for Cullen to hold her? Just to hold her.

She shifts against him and tilts her head to meet his gaze. She's so small and vulnerable with her broken heart and her missing arm, her body pressed against the metal in his armour.

Dorian was right, Cullen realises.

Someone needs to take care of her.

Someone needs to make her forget.

The idea lands in his mind and once it's there, it's like he can't stop himself.

His body moves of its own accord when he tightens his grip around her and raises his free hand to touch her face. Her cheek is incredibly soft under his fingertips.

 _Good thing I'm not wearing gloves._

Slowly and carefully he traces the pattern of her Elven markings. He remembers what she once told him and the other advisors - that the markings are a tradition stemming from a time when elves were kept as slaves. Even so, she chose not to have them removed. They're part of her Dalish identity. Part of who she is.

"Cullen", she whispers, her voice husky. "What are you doing?"

"I'm comforting you", he replies with a confidence he doesn't possess. He can feel his cock twisting in his trousers. Well, he's only human. "Does it help?"

Her eyes darken. They're still sad, still close to tears, but there is something else in them as well. Something she tries to repress.

"I'm not sure", she says.

"You're upset." His fingers caress her skin, following the curve of her neck. "Just be still. It's alright."

She leans heavier against him. Tears run across her cheeks and dampens his fingertips and he feels a pang of guilt for wanting her so badly when she's crying.

"I can't take it anymore", she says.

"I know."

"I keep... I keep asking myself how he could do that to me. He made me hope and then... everything turned out differently from what I'd hoped. I feel like an idiot for not guessing the truth on my own but really, how could I have known?"

"You couldn't." Cullen hides his fingers in her hair.

"He's a god, you know. _My_ god. All my life, my people made sacrifices to him. What am I to do with that?"

"You can't trust a god", Cullen says, chosing his words carefully. "Not like you would a person. Gods have their own agendas. They don't _care_ or _feel_ the way we do. As divine creatures, they can and must put aside their emotions. That's what I learned in all my years in service of the Chantry, and I don't think your gods are any different."

Lavellan nods, slowly. "So he doesn't want me. What am I to do with _that_?"

His grip around her shoulder tightens even more as he clenches his fingers into the flesh of her upper arm. There's rage inside him now. Rage and combat and lust. They're barely doing anything and he's already hard. She's always had that effect on him.

I'm sorry", she mumbles when he doesn't reply. "Is it alright if I talk to you about this?"

He _hates_ her for talking to him about this.

He hates her. He loves her.

"Of course", he says, "but I know of something else. Something that'll take the pain away."

She goes still in his grip. "What?"

"Isn't that... isn't that obvious?"

She stares at him, blankly. "No."

Cullen swallows and clings to his feigned confidence, keeping his gaze steady. "Considering it's me?"

Her eyes go a little wide. "You mean lyrium?"

He almost lets go off her. "Maker, no! Sweet Andraste, how can you even..."

She puts her hand on his chest plate to calm him. "Alright, I thought you meant..."

"I would _never_ suggest that, not to anyone. I'm done, Ellana. I'm done with lyrium. I haven't used it in a long time. Not since... not since we last spoke about it. I swear."

He swears, but it's not entirely true. There _have_ been times when he haven't been able to stand the pain. None of those times were recently, though, and he did manage to resist on that particular day not long ago. That day in the Winter Palace when she told them all about her encounter with the creature in the Eluvians. He resisted the call of lyrium despite having to watch her missing arm, despite the hurt in her eyes and the obvious wound in her heart.

He considered that night a sign of progress and he'll never forgive Dorian for sending him down this path once again.

Even so, it's too late to pull out. His pulse has began to tick like a restless clock. His mouth has gone dry. His entire body aches. There's no way he'll back away from this now. No way.

"Then what do you mean?" Lavellan asks.

He pushes her against him, gently but firmly, while he tilts her chin upwards with his other hand.

"Solace", he says.


	3. Chapter 3

Lavellan gasps at the contact when their lips come together. Whether it's from shock or anticipation Cullen can't say.

She doesn't move and shows no signs of protest. That is good, he supposes, but it's not enough.

 _Respond_ , he begs quietly in his mind, pressing his lips harder against hers, urging her to open her mouth, to let him in like she once did. _Please, respond._

And she does.

Little by little, she relaxes against him. Then she sighs, as if to let go of the tension in her body, and parts her lips so that his tongue can find hers. She turns slightly in his grip in order to get closer to him. Her movements are tentative. Most likely she's going through all possible outcomes in her head. But she wants to. Oh, she wants to. He knows her well enough to tell.

And that's all that matters.

That, and the wild beating of his heart.

"Cullen", she whispers into his mouth as he strokes his tongue against hers. There's an urgency in the precise way she holds her head, like she's struggling to reign herself in. The very idea makes him dizzy, his blood pumping with desire. Holding her like this, feeling her, tasting her, is enough to drive him mad. He's already so hard he could lose his self-control any second.

 _Keep it together,_ he commands himself.

"I'm not sure..." Lavellan begins, but when Cullen places a trail of kisses across her throat she falls quiet and bends her head backwards to give him access. He keeps his hand firmly pressed against her back as he explores the curve of her neck. Her fingers clench the red fabric of his tabard.

"Don't you want to?" His voice is almost desperate.

Fuck.

He can't appear to be desperate.

He is desperate.

"Yes." She sighs heavily, eyes closed, and shifts her head to expose more of her skin. "I didn't know, but... yes."

He kisses her neck while tracing her further down with gentle strokes, caressing her shoulder, her collarbone and finally her breast through the tunic. Her nipple immediately hardens against the material.

"You like this." The words are a mumble of breath against her skin. "Don't you?"

"Gods, yes." She leans into his touch, her response sending waves of impulses through his body. It's all he can do not to simply push her down onto the bed.

 _Careful now, not too quickly._

"Then let me", he whispers.

He almost dies from amazement when she crawls into his lap, one leg curled underneath her, and leans in to kiss him again. Growling with anticipation he runs his fingers across her back, pushing her closer to him. Her light weight presses against his cock and there's no way she can't feel his erection. Just as well. There's nothing at all hesitant about the way she's playing with his mouth like she's trying to satisfy a need.

Cullen groans and fumbles with the belt around her waist. When he reaches for her tunic she pulls away from him, just slightly, and holds up her injured arm. Her eyes gleam with desire, but also challenge, like she's ready to evaluate how he reacts to her mutilated body. Well, he couldn't care less about her injury! He quickly unties the knot on her sleeve and pulls the tunic over her head.

Her white skin is luminous underneath, ethereal in the light from the fireplace. The injury has healed around her elbow and left a red scar. He can't claim that it's beautiful - but the rest of her is, so what does it matter? Her pointy ears and sharply cut cheekbones are more graceful than ever. Her Elven beauty is exquisite, like she's a divine, unearthly thing. Her breasts are now visible through a thin top and he tugs at the material, pulling it slightly to one side to reveal a nipple. Carefully, he bends to roll his tongue over the peak. It's stone hard, almost vibrating, and she gasps.

"Feels good?" he mumbles as he repeats the action with her other breast.

"Yes", she practically whimpers.

After all this time, it feels like a triumph.

With a sudden hurry, Lavellan rises from Cullen's lap to pull his tabard off of him. She loosens the straps to his shoulder pads with suprising competence considering that she's one-handed. He can feel his heart pounding when she attends the buckles of his chest plate, her fingers gently brushing his torso underneath the metal. It's been so long. Yet she knows exactly how to do undress him.

Without further ado she lets the armour pieces fall to the floor. One by one they make slamming sounds as they hit the stone tiles. She runs her open hand across his chest, from the collar of his shirt down to his stomach.

"Now I can feel you", she says.

He tries to pull her back into his lap but she moves out of the way and walks past him to curl up at the head of the bed. He remains still for a few moments, watching her. Her cheeks are flushed and still wet with tears. The neckline of her top does nothing to cover her breasts. She streches out her hand, reaches for him without a word, and he quickly kicks off his boots and crawls over to her. Not very elegantly, he supposes, but he's pretty much beyond the point of caring. Instead he tries really hard not to crush her as he covers her body with his.

They kiss, forcefully, and Cullen is lost in the warmth of her mouth. Her breath is shallow and uneven and she spreads her legs to make room for him between them. He presses against her, his cock stiff underneath the remaining layers of fabric, and she moans softly. She wraps her arms around his neck, almost violently, and rocks her hips against his hardness and it feels so fucking good.

Reluctantly he pulls away from her again, just so that he can wriggle her leggings off of her. His ability to think is slipping away by the second, yet he tries to watch her for signs that he might be moving forward to quickly. He detects no signs of the sort, she just twists and turns impatiently until her leggings are gone. Once her legs are free he traces the delicate skin there. He's seen her in battle several times and knows that she's a precise and fearless archer. Yet, underneath her clothes, she's so soft he's afraid he'll break her.

 _So fucking perfect._

He slides his hand between her legs to touch the fine fabric of her knickers and whatever doubt he may still have felt is gone in an instant.

Her knickers are moist, almost soaked. The very sensation, the damp material against his fingers, drives him insane. There is no way she could fake the wetness that is slipping from her body.

 _Keep it together_ , the sensible part of him insists, but it's clear that this can't go on for much longer.

He won't be able to wait.

He needs to have her. To claim her.

Slowly, he slips his index finger beneath her knickers, finding her folds. It takes no effort at all, she's so wet that his finger seems to instantly disappear into her cunt. She gasps at the contact, whispering something inaudible. He quickly adds a second finger, exploring. She moans and rocks against his hand. He catches up on the rhythm and moves his fingers back and forth until she's breathless.

"Cullen", Lavellan pleads, eyes closed, and he marvels at the fact that he is the one who can transform her into this lustful, wanton thing.

She's ready for him. More than ready.

She snarls, clearly displeased, when he removes his fingers from her cunt but quickly follows his lead, letting him pull her top and knickers off. She is flawless in her nakedness, so beautiful that it hurts to watch her. She tugs at his shirt and he can't be rid of it fast enough. She then brushes over his trousers, touching his cock through the black silk, and he's genuinely surprised at his own reaction. Out of control, his entire body jerks closer to her hand in one desperate move. He is so damn hard that for a moment he's convinced he's going to come right there and then. He takes a deep breath, grits his teeth and clings to his willpower.

 _Wait. You must wait._

"I want you inside me", she says, making everything worse.

 _That's a capitol idea._

"Yes." He can hardly find his voice as he grasps her hand to stop her from touching him further. He fumbles with his trousers until his cock springs free and then he's back between her legs, kissing her neck, his hardness throbbing against her wet folds.

With an impatient little sound Lavellan spreads her legs wider, wrapping them around his hips to adjust her position. Clearly, she's attempting to make it as easy as possible for him to slide into her. Despite her efforts, he continues to tease her as well as himself. He rubs his cock against her folds, letting it slide across her opening once, twice, but without entering. She growls, frustrated, and struggles underneath him to find an angle he won't be able to evade - but he holds back.

At first, he has no idea why. Under other circumstances he supposes he would want to savour the moment, make it last longer, but right now he's well beyond the point of desperation to pull that off.

Then, as he watches her squirm, fragments of their earlier conversation enter his aroused mind. There is something else that he wants. Needs.

"Cullen, _please_." Lavellan jerks her hips closer to him and makes another hissing sound when he breaks the contact.

"Look at me", he rasps.

She immediately obeys, her eyes wild and dark with want.

"Ellana." His voice is sharp despite his heavy breathing. "Promise me you'll kill him."

She blinks at him, confused. " _What_?"

He pulls away from her yet again. "If it comes to that, you _have_ to kill him. Do you understand? You must promise me."

It pains him to watch the arousal in her eyes fade away as his meaning dawns on her. She continues to move, but her movements seem involuntary. Her gaze is fixed on him.

"I've already said..." she begins, her voice husky.

" _Promise me_ ", he snaps.

She swallows and tries, it seems, very hard to stop rocking against him.

"I promise", she says slowly and with a clarity he has to admire, "that if all else fails, I _will_ kill him."

He slams into her then, violently, and she gasps in surpise. It hardly even takes a thrust, she's so wet that he's immediately buried in her. He pulls out, only to enter her again, and settles for a quick, even rhythm. She moves against him and her eyes widen with pleasure as if she's already forgot about their exchange of dialogue.

Words, perhaps unintended, slip from her lips. "This feels amazing."

He can only agree. It does feel amazing. He would never be able to describe the urgent tension in his body, the promise of release, the waves of delight that flush through him like an ocean.

And yet, when he closes his eyes, he's somewhere else. He's standing on an indefinable mountaintop, watching as Lavellan straightens her bow. In one sharp, delicate movement she aims and then loosens. Cullen follows the Dalish arrow as it flies through the air and penetrates the creature's chest. Yes, the creature is there, and blood pours through the greyish wool of his shirt. Cullen sees the creature fall to the ground, eyes unseeing, Lavellan silent and unmoved as she wrenches her arrow out of his dead body.

Cullen plays the scenario in his mind while he pushes into Lavellan, again and again, more violent every time, until the ocean sweeps his senses away. He comes hard, spilling himself inside her with what seems like a million thrusts.

Releasing himself.

Finally.

It has been such a long time. Months. Years.

Now it's done.

He gently pulls out of her and takes a few moments to adjust his trousers. He then sits quietly beside her, not sure what to say or do next. Minutes pass. She looks at him without speaking, and he can see that she's not entirely satisfied. He didn't have the physical ability, and perhaps not the patience, to take her over the edge.

Not this time.

He must find a way to persuade her into giving him another chance. She won't regret it.

 _She might, however, regret the conversation you forced upon her at the worst possible moment._

Well, there's that.

At least she enjoyed it. He's sure of that.

He would have died if she hadn't enjoyed it.

He rises from the bed to tend to the rest of his clothing while Lavellan slides beneath the blanket and sheets, pulling them around her.

"Don't go", she says when he puts on his shirt.

He freezes and stares at her, completely befuzzled.

"I'm going to sleep for a while", she explains. "I don't sleep very well and it'd be... easier if you were still here."

"Of course", he manages.

She lifts up the linen and he crawls into bed with her, pulling her close. She curls up against him, her arm around his waist, her head resting against his chest.

It's unreal.

He can feel his chest explode with something that is dangerously close to happiness.

Suddenly she shifts in his arms. "Wait", she says. "I forgot something."

He is granted a short glimpse of her naked body as she walks over to the cupboard in the corner. She opens it and puts on a simple dressing gown.

"I'll be right with you", she says. "There is just something I need to do first. I do it every night."

"What is that?" he asks, confused.

"Pray", she says.

She walks out on the open floor, past the fireplace where the fire is dying. She opens the window wide, then kneels in front of it. Moonlight fills the room and illuminates the markings on her face. With her pale skin and long ears she looks like something out of a Ferelden country fairytale.

The moon is so white it stings his eyes.

She remains on her knees, eyes fixed upon the moon, and quickly whispers a long series of Elven sentences and words. Must of it he can't comprehend or even understand.

Yet, he understands well enough.

He recognises _emma lath. Ma vhenan. Ar lath ma._

And his heart grows cold.

Her prayer doesn't last for long. She soon falls quiet but remains in the same position. She lifts her head with a broad smile and for the first time since Cullen came to her room she seems genuinely happy and at ease.

"I really do love him, you know", she says. "I always will. My people tried to reach him in so many different ways, but they were all wrong. So I created my own prayer. I always pray to him."

"Who?" Cullen asks, although he knows the answer.

She looks past the moon and into the darkness.

"Solas", she says.


End file.
